The Feminist Review

As of this time, Chinese writer Wei Hui’s second offering, “Marrying Buddha,” is not yet banned in China. Her first novel, “Shanghai Baby,” earned notoriety after its release in 1999. The Chinese authorities put it on their watch list, declaring the author’s penchant for “Western decadence and debauchery” and her novel a bad influence to the Chinese society. This is “Sex and the City,” Chinese style.

They fanned the flames by throwing 40,000 copies of “Shanghai Baby” on fire. Thus, that lone act increased Wei’s popularity, catapulting her to the status of cult figure. In her country, one can buy her novel under the counter. In some cases, others use her name to sell more racy sex. In other parts of the world, especially the West, where Asian women are still classified under certain stereotypes—a Japanese geisha, an exotic prostitute Suzy Wong, or even a docile mail-order bride—“Shanghai Baby” landed swiftly on the bestsellers’ list. Western critics praised the author’s bravery to defy China’s powers-that-be and the book’s unadulterated sexual liberation, written by an Asian female living in Asia. This entranced the West and designated her, along with another newcomer, Mian Mian, as the new voices of China.

If Wei’s first work was sloppy and superficial, don’t expect too much on “Marrying Buddha.” It tackles the never-ending difference between East and West, interracial love/lust affair, the livid sexual awakening of a young Asian woman combined with the author’s hunger for designer labels and endless name-droppings of celebrities, most of them literary and pop culture icons.

Both her books are said to be roman à clef. Wei’s heroine Coco, after Coco Chanel (but, of course!) embodies much of Wei’s personality: a struggling writer, a Henry Miller enthusiast, loves to wear qípáo (a Chinese traditional figure-hugging dress in satin with lively prints of flowers, dragons and birds), a shoe fetish, a sucker for designer goods. One cannot seem to separate the two figures. As for her tales of former and current lovers and cheeky friends, one can only think of her sneaky attempts to be the Carrie Bradshaw of Shanghai because the parallelisms are too much.

“Marrying Buddha” is the continuation of “Shanghai Baby.” Coco, fresh from the success of her first book, finds herself in New York City, post 9-11, as a guest of Columbia University’s East Asian literature department. However, spirituality seems to have influenced Wei that the mood somehow changes in “Marrying Buddha.” Terms like Zen, meditation, yoga, Buddhism, Taoism creep up. It abruptly replaces Coco’s hedonistic lifestyle–mostly boozing, non-stop partying, pill-popping, chain-smoking—in her former life. Well, parts of it. Blame it on Coco’s sudden meeting with the character named Muju, a Japanese-Italian indie movie director slash producer. He teaches Coco the old eastern tenets of spiritual enlightenment. Not only that, the pair also has good sex, perhaps even tantric. She thinks she loves him so that she toys with the idea of grounding a family with him.

Muju is, in some ways, different from Tian Tian of “Shanghai Baby.” If the former is a tiger in bed, the latter is the opposite. This rumored stereotypical Chinese male attribute also sparked the controversy in 1999. Anyway, both men exhibit Wei’s version of the East: wise, laid-back, at times, traditional. Their antagonists—Mark the German and New Yorker Nick whose face resembles George Clooney—represent her West: impulsive, disorder, modernity, personal freedom.

There’s also the ambivalence – a certain emotion Coco feels whenever there is something wrong with her almost-perfect relationships. Tian Tian would be her hero if not for his impotence, suicidal tendencies, his fragility and dreamy poetic life. And Muju, if not for his fear to commit more deeply—the result of previous failed relationships.

Like Mark the German, Nick is the devil’s advocate, Coco’s own downward spiral, her hindrance to being a full-fledged monogamist. In fact, the tall Nick would be Coco’s Mr. Big of the popular TV series. Dandy Nick is always dressed in black Armani suit, chauffeured in a limousine, and is fond of saying “Hey, kid” every time they meet.

As Coco is once again faced with this dilemma—torn between her love problems with Muju and the excitement she feels every time she is with Nick—she leaves New York and goes straight to Putuo Island and finds shelter in a monastery where she was born. Here she meets a monk, who witnessed her birth. She finds comfort in his words and, for a while, revels in them, enlightening her clouded mind. Once she steps onto Shanghai she is back to square one. Both her lovers want to see her. In the end, both end up in her bed on separate days.

As the novel ends, Coco learns that she is pregnant. The self-analysis doesn’t end with “who am I?” There are signs that this could be a great task and would take a long time before Coco (and the readers, as well) could unravel her. From one of Wei’s interviews, she told reporters that lesbianism could be the central theme in her next novel as she likes to hang out in lesbian bars everywhere she goes. So, hey, shades of another of her favorite, Anaïs Nin?

“Marrying Buddha” is said to be ambitious, more mature. But the author’s attempt to grasp the meaning of life and the urgency of the Sept. 11 attacks falls short. Somehow, her desire to be taken seriously goes flat. The trouble is not the erotic content and the embrace of bohemian lifestyle she and her friends enjoy but its predictability, its lack of imagination. In fact, it exudes the author’s wanton tendency to borrow and quote ideas from her idols. The overkill becomes a travesty of its own.

Yes, it is fairly readable. And yes, the dialogs are not as clumsy as the first, which could be due to a better translation. There are moments one couldn’t help grinning at Wei’s acerbic, and sometimes honest, observations. These anecdotes turn out to be humorous. But still, the clichés are there. Coco becomes an irony as her character clashes against her own brand of materialism and self-indulgence. The repetitive mention of labels is just incomprehensible. A careful reader might wonder about its significance to the novel.

So, yes, don’t shell out your 500 bucks just yet. But if you feel that you must, to give in to that desire to peek at the modern and happening Shanghai, maybe you should begin your journey elsewhere.

Filed under: books on December 20th, 2009 by Elen Farkas